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My mother was a PhD in human physiology, played bridge, tennis, all the "right things" to prevent Alzheimer's, and nevertheless watched her "hard drive" slowly fail as she turned 75. Her own mother had the disease about the same age, so my mother lived in fear of a similar fate. As it was, it would be 15 long years, before she was finally released from the cage of this disease. I want all of you to know that we were able to keep her home for an additional five years because of a much- maligned drug in the news these days - Zyprexa (Olanzapine).

“Please don’t let me strangle my mother,” I plead silently as I try for the umpteenth time to coax her hand into the sleeve of her sweater. She is sitting on the edge of her bed holding her arm stiffly against her body, refusing to unbend her elbow. It is still dark outside.

At any given time in the United States 65 million caregivers partner with their care receivers in a transformative choreography of love and letting go. While most would call the dance arduous, I think few would call it joyless. Daily transcendence of self in the name of love ultimately is liberating, although it is difficult to believe that when your elderly loved one is smearing lipstick on the lamp shades.